


Lost Time

by cosimas



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, F/F, dissociative disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosimas/pseuds/cosimas
Summary: She knew she was different. She just wondered if it made her unlovable.A character study of Jillian Holtzmann.





	Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I started this months ago and it sat unfinished until tonight. I hope you all like it. Warning: This fic explores mental illness. I have done a lot of research about Jillian's disorder, including watching videos with therapists and patients, but I have no idea what it personally feels like to experience what she does. I've tried to treat it with the care it deserves. BEFORE YOU READ, you should be aware that I describe in detail a dissociative episode that Jillian experiences. I don't want to harm anyone so please heed that warning! It also includes child abuse and abuse from school bullies, though it isn't graphic so I didn't put that as a warning.
> 
> Also - because I am a lazy ass with no beta, this is unedited. I read over it once but typos and me go together like peas and carrots.

The first time it happened, Jillian was eight years old.

One moment, she was crouched under the play desk in her small bedroom, hiding with her small hands clamped over her ears, and the next, she was standing in the middle of a park several neighborhoods over. A police officer was bent down with his hand on her shoulder, asking her what her name was. Without a word, she blinked and looked down at herself. Her pink overalls were torn and tattered, and her new light-up shoes that she had been so proud of were covered in mud. Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to figure out what had happened to her. The officer asked her again what her name was, and she burst into tears.

It had taken them a day and a half to track down her parents after she had calmed down enough to talk in short, sad sentences. A doctor visited the station and looked her over for any injuries, asking her what happened. She had no idea. She had been missing for two days, but to her it felt like seconds. The chair she sat in while she waited on her parents to come pick her up was uncomfortable, and she couldn’t reach the floor, so she swung her legs back and forth. Normally, she would be running around, asking the officers how their radios worked and if she could play with one, but she wasn’t in the mood. All she could think about was how much trouble she was going to be in.

Jillian knew she was different. She’d known it ever since she was three and a half. She had heard her parents talking in hushed, exasperated tones about her. They said she never sat still, not even while they ate meals. Sure, toddlers and kids were active, but not this active. She always wanted to know in intricate detail how everything worked, and had even lugged a VCR to her room and smashed it open on the floor. It had crushed her to hear her father say she was just a weirdo and they’d have to get used to it.

So, when she finally looked up and saw her father walking in with her mother in tow, she sunk down in the chair. Bertram Holtzmann was, in the simplest of words, not a nice man. In fact, he had been the reason she was hiding under her play desk before all of this happened. He worked long and hard during the day and enjoyed very liberal amounts of beer when he got home. Though she wasn’t young enough to understand at the time, he was deep in debt thanks to his gambling and her mother’s outrageous spending. It made him angry, and anger did not mix well with alcohol. If she made the mistake of catching his attention while he was drunk, he would take that anger out on her. The worst part of it was that he was still her daddy, and she told herself repeatedly that she was just going to have to work on being a good girl. She just wanted him to love her.

“Jillian,” he said in a gruff tone, “come on, honey.”

She gulped and slid out of the chair before running to them both. Her little arms wrapped around her mother’s thighs, and she hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” her mother assured her. “Let’s get you home.”

She played with the messy end of a pigtail for the entire ride home, wondering what her punishment was going to be. As their dated car went over several potholes, she looked up at the back of her mother’s head. Rose Holtzmann, whose first name had become Jillian’s middle name, was barely more than a stranger to her. She knew her husband was an alcoholic, and rather than be around and volunteer to be a punching bag, she often went out with friends shortly after Bertram got home from work. She only spent time with Jillian on the weekends, but Jillian treasured whatever time she got. She was too young to realize she deserved more in a mother, especially since Rose also turned a blind eye to the blatant abuse her daughter was experiencing.

She barely made it to the front door before her father grabbed her by the pigtails and yanked her head to the side, stopping her in her tracks. Her mother continued inside, and she forced herself to look up at her father with her bottom lip trembling.

“I’m sor--“

Her words cut off when he grabbed her face. His fingers dug into her cheeks enough to hurt as he glared at her.

“Do you realize how much embarrassment you caused your mother and I?” He continued before she could speak again. “Don’t ever run off like that again, little girl. Go to your room. No supper.”

He pushed her backward and she stumbled before tripping over the threshold and landing hard on her butt. Not wasting any time, she scrambled backward and ran towards the stairs, holding in the tears that threatened to fall until she had kicked off her shoes and crawled into her bed. She pulled a very worn teddy bear to her chest, burrowed under her blankets, and began to sob.

***

It didn’t happen again for three years.

By the time Jillian was nine years old, she had become an expert on hiding bruises and taking punches. She had also taken apart and reassembled every piece of electronics in her home. Her mind was constantly on mechanics, and she devoured whatever books she could find at the local library on the subject. When she looked at a piece of hardware, she could imagine how electricity moved through it – how it ran from the wall and through the intricate insides. Her favorite object to study was the toaster. Power would run from the outlet, through the cord, and into the nichrome loops. It would slow there and build up, which caused the metal to heat up. It would glow orange, give off that heat, and presto, toast. The best part was the timer that would signal the lever to release and sever the flow of energy. It all made so much _sense_ to her in a world that otherwise made no sense at all.

She picked up a screwdriver and felt the weight of it in her hand while the front door banged open below and she heard the distinct sound of her father’s work boots on the wooden floor. Not much had changed when it came to their relationship. Her eyes caught a hand shaped bruise on her arm, and she tugged her sweater down to cover it before going to work on the mess of wire and metal that scattered her floor. It was only hours later when she heard his unsteady footsteps ascending the stairs that she began to feel uneasy.

The next thing she knew, she was being pulled out of the street by a woman she had never met as a car whipped by, causing her hair and clothes to flap about in the wind.

“Watch out!” She shouted and Jillian found herself clinging to the woman’s arm.

Her eyes were wide and she was breathing heavily while her head whipped back and forth. She recognized where she was, at least. They lived on a busy street, and she was a couple of blocks away, nearer to the restaurants and shops.

“What…?”

“You have to watch where you’re going, sweetie. Now where are your parents?”

Jillian tugged her arm away and took a step back, looking at her clothes again. They were clean, and her shoes weren’t scuffed any more than normal, so at least she hadn’t been gone long.

“I-I’m sorry,” she muttered, “Thanks, lady.”

She turned and took off at a run before the woman could stop her.

***

When she was thirteen years old, she got to put a name to what was happening to her.

Middle school had started, and Jillian hated it. It wasn’t the classes she despised. No, she loved those. It was her classmates. Any day where they ignored her was a good one. She was still different – still _weird_ , and they all knew it. She showed no interest in dressing in the latest trends like the other girls her age, preferring to wear whatever she felt was comfortable. That usually meant baggy jeans or overalls and an old, ratty sweater. Instead of chunky sandals or wedges, she stuck to combat boots and worn converse. While the girls were trading Lisa Frank folders and sampling mini bottles of glittery nail polish, Jillian was carting around an army green duffle bag full of crumpled assignments and half-finished inventions. She was shunned from joining the girls’ social circles, and the boys were relentless in bullying her for being different.

Still, none of those boys hit as hard as her father did. They didn’t even come close. So, it didn’t come as a surprise when a group of them cornered her yet again. She had just closed her locker when she turned and saw them all standing behind her in a semi-circle. The main one, a taller boy named Scott, curled his lip at her.

“Whatcha doing, weirdo?”

“Holtzmann,” she said quietly, “my name is Holtzmann.”

“Sure, _weirdo_ ,” he said, causing his thuggish friends to laugh. “What’s in the bag, huh? More freaky inventions? Gonna invent a robot so you’ll actually have a friend?” The group laughed again.

Jillian’s cheeks were burning slightly, but she didn’t want to let them under her skin. “I’m actually working on a face transformer to give to you so you don’t have to be so damn ugly anymore.”

Sure, it wasn’t the smartest thing to say, both because such an invention was impossible and because it caused Scott to grab her bag and unzip it. Her things fell to the floor, and he started stomping on whatever little trinkets fell out. She shoved him, and he wasted no time shoving her back. She stumbled against the lockers and doubled over when he landed a punch to her gut.

“You’re such a freak,” he said, shoving her again so she fell to the floor.

_“Freak! Freak! Freak!”_

She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for him to stop kicking her.

When she opened her eyes, she was sitting in the counselor’s office, and the counselor, Mrs. Woods, was in the middle of a sentence.

“…really can’t tolerate fighting, Jillian.”

“What?”

“I said, the school has a policy—“

“No,” Jillian said, standing up and immediately wincing at the pain that shot up her abdomen and ribs. “No… I mean, what happened? I was just… I was just on the floor… a-and now…”

These episodes had happened a few more times after she had turned nine, but one hadn’t happened for almost six months. She thought they were over, but now she had no memory of the rest of the fight. No memory of being taken to the counselor’s office. An ice pack had fallen from her lap when she stood. Who had given it to her? When? She began to breathe quickly, placing her hands over her ears again and then tugging at her haphazard curls. _What happened what happened what happened._

Mrs. Woods had quickly made her way to Jillian’s side and was trying to get her to stop pulling her hair.

“Not real…” she muttered. “Not real. Not real.”

As it turned out, having a panic attack in the middle of a school day was enough to be taken to a psychologist. She had been suspended for fighting (what a _joke_ ) and the principal had told her mother that a therapist was probably a promising idea. The ride to the office with her mother was awkward in that it was the most time she had spent with the woman alone in years. She had dropped Jillian off at the curb of a sterile looking office building before saying she’d be back in an hour to pick her up.

So, she found herself sitting on an uncomfortable couch, staring at an older looking man who was sitting opposite her in an armchair. His name was Dr. Day. He seemed sweet enough, having greeted her with a hearty smile. _“I’m Dr. Day, and I hope you’re having a good one!”_ She was too nervous to do much more than give a timid smile. She was seeing a _therapist_ ; it was safe to assume she wasn’t having a good day. They sat in silence before he asked her to explain what happened during the fight.

“I don’t know…” she said, beginning to wring her hands together. “I remember being on the floor, and then I was in Mrs. Wood’s office. No matter how much I try, I can’t remember.”

“Has this happened before?”

She wrung her hands tighter, staring down at her fingertips and nodding. “Used to happen all the time. I’d be somewhere… and then I’d be somewhere else. My mom calls them my episodes.”

He frowned and wrote down a few things while she fidgeted on the couch.

“Can you tell me what you’re usually doing when the… episodes happen?”

A lump formed in her throat and she struggled to swallow. She knew what would happen if she told this man about the way her parents treated her – her father, in particular. It wouldn’t be good, and her parents would surely both hate her for it. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she wiped furiously at them with her sleeve. She opened her mouth to say that no, she couldn’t tell him. Instead, the events of the last decade of her life spilled out of her mouth.

At the end of the hour, instead of leaving with her mother, she was leaving in the back of a CPS car with tears streaking down her cheeks. Of course Dr. Day had been obligated to call the police. It was the law, he explained. She wasn’t in a safe situation. He said a lot of things about her being safe now, and how brave she was for telling him what happened. His words blurred together as she sat there, feeling numb. One thing he had said, however, stood out vividly in her mind.

_Dissociative amnesia._

***

The rest of her free public education passed in a blur during which she was shuffled from foster home to foster home. Jillian’s parents lost custody of her, and were incarcerated. Her father for abusing her, and her mother for being complicit during the abuse. The rational part of her mind told her that it was for the best, but most of the time she felt like she had let them down. It was sick, she knew, but she missed her parents, especially during the nights she spent in the group home between foster families. Her foster parents never kept her for long, especially after she suffered a dissociate episode while in their care. Having read up on the disorder, she could pinpoint the signs that an episode was going to happen, but her therapy hadn’t been effective in treating it. The most she could do was let the social worker explain her diagnosis to each new set of parents and hope she didn’t injure herself when they happened. She somehow managed to keep up with her schooling during the tumultuous teenage years, and nearly ran across the graduation stage when they read her name.

When she turned eighteen, she left the group home with nothing more than a meager bag of belongings and some spending cash. The first thing she did was buy a one-way bus ticket to Massachusetts where she had been accepted at MIT. College was a whole new world for her. There were no rules. Nobody could tell her that no, she couldn’t stay up into the wee hours of the morning tinkering with inventions. She didn’t have to be afraid of making her foster parents angry with her medium poofs during the night. She didn’t have to fear harsh words or fists. The periods when she would dissociate lessened, and she wondered if she was finally getting better.

Dr. Rebecca Gorin became the mother she never had. The professor took Jillian under her wing, and with her tutelage, Jill found an outlet to express her creativity. The first time Jillian went missing for three days, all she needed to say was the name of her disorder for Dr. Gorin’s lips to press in a firm line before she wrapped the young scientist into a very rare tight hug. Jillian had been on the verge of tears, expecting Dr. Gorin to toss her away and write her off as damaged goods like so many others had before. Instead, she experienced the kind of sympathy she had never expected before.

“You’re not mad?” She asked, her voice slightly muffled by the older woman’s lapel.

“Why would I be?” Rebecca replied. “I was… frightened. Worried that something awful happened. I’m just glad you’re back. The mind is a complex thing, Jillian. It’s not your fault.”

_Not your fault._

“Besides,” she continued. “I’ve invested too much of my time turning you into a respectable engineer to start over with someone else.”

Jillian stayed at MIT for the rest of her academic career.

***

Being thrust into the real world after leaving the bubble of academia was overwhelming to say the least. Jillian found her way to New York and spent most of her days bumming around and dumpster diving for things she could use in her inventing. She was too embarrassed to tell Dr. Gorin that she had yet to find a job with either a private company or a school. The interviews she had managed to score went horribly, and she wondered if anyone would ever be able to see past her eccentricities and take a chance on her. She would dissociate for days at a time, but in the end, it didn’t matter. She never got badly hurt and couldn’t afford to go to therapy with little to no income. Things were rapidly going from bad to worse, and she felt like she didn’t know what to do about it.

It wasn’t until one fateful day while she was knee-deep in a dumpster that her luck turned around. As she was bent over a busted open bag of what looked like discarded computer speakers, a large garbage bag came down on her back with a thud, making her fall forward with an _oof_.

“Is someone in there?”

She grunted and started to push herself up.

“Oh my god! Are you alright?”

“Peachy…”

She turned and nearly gasped at the sight that awaited her. A woman with her auburn hair in a messy bun was gripping onto the side of the dumpster, looking distraught. The worry wasn’t what caught Jillian’s attention. The woman was absolutely beautiful. Her blue eyes were even bluer than her own, and her slim face was striking in a way that made Jillian’s stomach flutter. She was wearing an old hoodie and sweats, but that did nothing to detract from her beauty. Despite the fact that this woman had just thrown trash on top of her and the alley they were in was filled with the worst smells imaginable, Jillian smiled and put her hands on the edge next to the other woman’s.

“Come here often?”

***

Erin Gilbert, it turned out, was a particle physics professor at the Kenneth P. Higgins Institute of Science, where she shared a lab with her best friend, Abby Yates. Jillian was enamored with Erin from the start, and became fast friends with Abby. They got her a job as a lab tech at the same institute, and the three of them worked on a different kind of science. While Jillian had never given much thought to the paranormal, she knew it would be bad science to dismiss it outright. She built devices and machines that Abby and Erin had only theorized about, but none of them knew if they would actually work.

She brought Erin a latte every morning and flirted with her endlessly. The dissociative episodes disappeared for months. Erin even started flirting back.

Things began to look up once again, for a while.

Then, the new dean at Higgins gave them the boot and a little weasel of a man named Rowan nearly destroyed the entire city. It wasn’t until after the whole ordeal that the adrenaline wore off and Jillian’s nightmares started.

In each one, she was laying on the floor of the lab while Abby walked towards her with that maniacal grin on her face. Her eyes were different – cold and unfeeling. They weren’t the warm ones that she usually saw from one of her best friends. She vaguely heard Patty screaming in the background as Abby bent down and her hand clamped shut around Jillian’s neck. She gasped for air, clawing at the vicelike grip. There was nothing she could do to get away. The glass broke against her back as Abby shoved her out of the window and let her dangle above the pavement below. This was it – she was going to die. Abby was going to drop her and _oh god she was so high up_.

Each time the nightmare ended the same way. Instead of Patty grabbing her hand and yanking her back inside, Abby dropped her and all she could see was the awful smile on her best friend’s face grow smaller as the ground grew nearer. Before she could reach the sidewalk, she would jolt awake in bed, covered in a thin layer of sweat and gasping for air.

After having the nightmare for the fourth night in a row, the effects were still just as bad as the first time. Her hands went to her neck and she rubbed it as she brought her knees up to her chest. Tears trailed down her cheeks and she moved her hands to cover her ears as she tried to shut everything out. It was all too much to handle. She moved her hands higher and balled her fists in her messy hair as she coughed out a sob and pressed her forehead to her knees.

She recognized the feeling before it happened. It was as if she was being pressed through a hole that was too small for her to fit through and her ears were full of cotton. She floated away but remained in place at the same time.

***

Erin was questioning her decision to give up her apartment and move into the firehouse. Of course it saved money, but she had to wonder each day if the coffee pot she used had been turned into a radioactive machine overnight. She also had been scared to death a few times by explosions going off in the lab. Despite all of Holtz’s quirks, she knew deep down that she would still have chosen to give up her apartment if given the choice again.

She knew how the engineer felt about her. How could she not? At first, she thought that the flirting was just the way Holtz acted with everyone, but she quickly grew to realize that wasn’t the case. She had the air of a Casanova, but Erin never saw her flirt with anyone else. She never saw her go on as much as a date. She didn’t know when, but Erin found herself feeling more than friendship towards the other woman as well. She was just nervous about being wrong. What if Holtz didn’t like her back after all? God, the embarrassment alone would kill her. So, she hadn’t said anything, and Erin and Holtz maintained this delicate dance between them.

A glance at the clock told her it was nearly three in the morning, but Erin hadn’t been able to sleep. Insomnia bothered her a lot of the time, and she didn’t like relying on sleeping pills to get rest. So, she found herself out of bed and sitting at the small table in the kitchenette on the third floor, reading a book of poetry that Patty had given her for her birthday. She sipped a hot mug of chamomile tea in the hopes that it would make her drowsy.

The sounds of footsteps caught her attention, and she looked up to see Holtz walking up the steps from the second floor. She immediately smiled and offered a greeting, but Holtz just frowned at her. Her face was blank, almost catatonic-like.

“Holtz?”

Jillian just stared at her, and Erin began to feel a little uncomfortable. She remembered Jillian having mentioned disassociating before, but had never seen it. The woman was very private when it came to personal issues. If she hadn’t known better, Erin would have sworn she was sleepwalking.

“Holtz?” She said again. “Do you know where you are?”

Jillian blinked at her and gave a two fingered salute before shuffling past her towards the steps that led to the roof. Erin was out of her chair in an instant, following her. She didn’t know how to react in a situation like this. Would it be damaging to reach out and grab her? Could she turn violent?

The cold air whipped around them and Erin wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to stay warm. It didn’t seem to affect Holtz, even though she was dressed in just a sports bra and a pair of boxers.

“Holtz, look at me.”

“I am,” Holtz muttered, even though her back was to Erin.

Erin faltered, wondering what the hell to do. It was obviously unsafe for them to be so high up while Holtz was in the state she was in. Cautiously, she took a few steps forward and extended her hand.

“I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder.”

Holtz nodded slowly, and Erin hoped she understood what was said. Her hand came to rest on the smooth skin of Holtz’s shoulder. Taking it as a good sign that Holtz didn’t seem distressed at the contact, she gently nudged the woman until she was turned around. That blank stare was still there, and Erin felt her chest constrict with fear. She wasn’t afraid of Holtzmann, not at all. It was just frightening to see her like this.

“Let’s go back inside, yeah?” She said softly, “It’s cold.”

Holtz gave a near-imperceptible nod and Erin led her back inside and down the stairs. They made it to the couch, and with gentle coaxing, Erin got Holtz to sit down. She quickly covered the shivering woman with a blanket and sat down next to her, holding her hand as the silence encompassed them.

***

Jillian came back to herself with a gasp. She tensed up, momentarily panicking because she was not in her bed. She was… _where was she_? She felt someone squeeze her hand and looked over, seeing Erin eyeing her with trepidation. It took her only a moment for her brain to catch up and she realized she was still in the firehouse.

“Erin…”

She choked out the word and blinked rapidly as tears filled her eyes.

“Are you back with me?”

Holtz just nodded and wrapped her arms around the other woman, burying her face in the crook of Erin’s neck as she cried. This was it, now. She liked Erin so much, but now Erin saw just how fucked up she was. She probably ended up pushing Erin away from her and it was a matter of seconds before Erin shoved her away. The thought made her cry even harder.

Instead of disgust or fear, she felt a hand on the small of her back begin to rub small circles.

“Shh, Holtz,” Erin whispered. “You’re here with me. It’s okay.”

Eventually her sobs subsided into hiccups and she pulled back enough to wipe her eyes and nose on the back of her hand. Erin kept rubbing her back and swiped a stray tear off her cheek with the pad of her thumb before cupping her cheek. Jillian leaned into the touch and closed her eyes.

“Want to talk about it?”

Jillian shook her head quickly.

“We don’t have to… but Holtz– _Jillian_ , you don’t need to be afraid of telling me anything. In fact, I want to be able to help you when this happens. I was so afraid of making it worse. I didn’t want to hurt you, or–“

Jillian cut off Erin’s words with a kiss, only softly pressing their lips together. When Erin didn’t pull away, she increased the pressure. It only took another couple of seconds for Erin to really kiss her back. It was all Jillian had imagined and more. Erin’s lips were soft and she tasted faintly of the honey she always added to her tea. Before either woman could deepen the kiss, Jillian pulled back.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” she confessed, finally finding her words.

“Me too,” Erin said, ghosting her fingertips over her own lips.

“Nobody has ever made me feel… I don’t know,” she fumbled over her words. “Like I’m worth it? Not since Gorin. And this is different.”

Erin smiled and pulled Holtz back into an embrace.

“Later,” Erin whispered, and Jillian closed her eyes once more.

It was only one word, but Jillian knew everything Erin meant to say with it. They would talk about what happened in the light of day. Jillian would lay it all out for Erin, no matter how much it hurt to discuss. They would finally get themselves on the same page.

It had taken decades, but Jillian finally felt hopeful for the future. As they both stretched out on the couch and Erin’s arms pulled her flush against her front, she wondered if this is what having a family was _supposed_ to feel like. As she began to let her mind wander and give in to the tug of sleep, she knew there would be no more nightmares that night. When she finally drifted off, it was with the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.


End file.
